


Friends of the Truest Kind

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awesome George, F/M, Hecklers, Hurt/Comfort, I love Ringo, I love to see him get beat up too, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nice John, Panic Attacks, Ringo Starr Needs a Hug, Ringo gets mistreated, Ringo-centric, poor ringo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-06 06:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18845761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ringo's struggles throughout his time with, before and a bit after the Beatles. Some truth but a lot is fiction and dramatization. George, Paul and John are angels sent from the lord to give our favorite drummer the love he deserves.Might be some implications of things that could be triggering, heed the tags.





	1. Pete Forever, Ringo Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo joins the Beatles, Pete Best fans aren't happy.

Pete Best is ill, Paul McCartney explained to Ringo, a hopeful look in his eye. It’s February 5, 1962, Ringo’s at home, a little flat he was paying for with the last of his money from Rory Storm and the Hurricane’s. He’d quit in January, and while his resolve was strong, the fact that he could only afford to spend a pound a week on anything other then rent gave you an idea of his financial situation. Desperation was beginning to set in, he needed money, he’d hate to burden his mum with moving back in with her. He’d been thinking about his financial struggles when two knocks had pounded on his door, and like a godsend - there they were, three of them, one had to be younger than nineteen. He’d seen them around of course, he wasn’t sure what they were going by now, whether it be The Quarrymen, The Silver Beetles or Japage, but hadn’t ever interacted much with them.

Of course, he knew almost immediately what they needed, a drummer. He knew they had one now, Pete Best, but perhaps he’d quit like so many of their previous members. Besides, what else would somebody come to his flat for (apart from rent) if not seeking his drumming skills. It was the only thing he’d ever been good at, while opportunities were sparse now, they had been booming when he was with the Hurricanes, constantly he’d been given offers. He hadn't thought they’d stop when he quit the formerly mentioned group. Honestly, it wasn’t anything personal, he just wanted something new, less routine. He’d been with Rory for almost five years and he knew, they were going nowhere. While they loved to brag they were the ‘best group in Liverpool’, that really wasn’t saying all that much. Ringo knew that nobody, even their lead singer and star of the band didn’t believe this could be a career, he was the only one who’d quit his job (well apprenticeship) for his instrument. He’d been thought a fool for it but he’d managed. 

Since he’s offered a share of the money they’ll make (and while it’s nothing like what he made with Rory, it’s decent enough), Ringo agrees to do two shows with them. One would be at the Cavern Club and another at the Kingsway Club. He gets to know the three lads a bit, he’s the oldest of them, at 22 but John isn’t much younger. George is, as he expected, the youngest at 18. John’s reputation precedes him and he’s a bit aggressive though Ringo is more than used to that, growing up in Dingle and all. Paul is pleasant enough, but he spends most of his time with John and doesn’t go to much of the trouble in getting know Ringo. George tends to flock around John as well but he gets on well with Ringo, their senses of humor mesh well (George’s dry and witty and Ringo’s naturally a clown). He already knows how to play most of their numbers and for the ones he doesn’t, he wings it and does pretty well. Even John, who apparently is hard to impress, seemed fazed. 

At the end of the second showing, all three help him carry his bags out to his car (sold to him by Johnny Hutch, something John had picked up on during the drive to the Kingsway club, they’d had an interesting chat). It’d been nice and he’d gotten everything backed up much faster than usual, he agreed to drive the three back to their places and dropped them all off. Paul, whose home he drove by last, complimented his playing before exiting the vehicle. 

Driving home with a bit more money in his pocket and and warm feeling in his chest, he felt happy enough. 

 

As was inevitable, Ringo saw the three temporary bandmates in passing frequently, Liverpool was the sort of place where you did. He’d seen John out on a date with a bird, George trailing them for some reason (the girl looked a bit annoyed at that). He’d actually had a conversation with Paul when Rory Storm (he’d gotten back with them in February) and ‘The Beatles’ as they were now calling it, played a show at the same club. Their acts were one after another and towards closing so they had a while to talk. It was mostly joking but there was some sharing that went on. Ringo found out a bit more about the history of the Beatles, especially John and Paul’s friendship. He also found out Paul’s mother had died a few years back and gave his condolences. Paul’d been pulled away by George after about half an hour of chatting. He’d seen George on the bus a few times and the younger boy had actually helped out with his drum cases a few times. Other than that, he didn’t have much interaction with the boys until August. 

A man who introduced himself as the boy’s manager, Brian Epstein approached him in Hamburg while he and Rory were sharing a hotel room. The fact that the lads had a manager was already a step up from what Rory had, and having listened to the trio recently, they’d gotten considerably better - perhaps even as good if not better than The Hurricanes. Rory was good about it, he’d known Ringo had been uncomfortable with the group with almost half a year now. He let him go without much of a fight and the two remained friends. His first gig with his new band was on the eighteenth in Birkenhead. It went horribly. Pete Best fans (the former drummer who’d been fired) went completely nuts. The entire pub seemed to chat “Pete forever, Ringo never!”, it got violent between sets and everybody was uneasy. Things even started to get thrown from the audience. It wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t proud to say that his rhythm faltered a few times when something came flying at him. When a bottle of beer smashed into the wall behind him, he had a particularly hard time. Luckily none of the shards hit him but he was deeply on edge. Leaving the club, the other three lads formed an almost protective circle around him and he couldn’t help but feel a bit humiliated. 

After Paul and John had gone off somewhere, some drunk got mad enough to start taking swings at Ringo. It was hard to resist retaliating, the drunk’s aim was off anyways so the punches were easy to dodge. George seeing the situation, got involved though. Scowling, he marched right over and told the drunk where he could stick his shit. That time, the drunk got a solid punch in, the next day the lead guitarist had a black eye. 

It wasn’t a great period. Especially since unpleasant memories got brought up with all the hostility. Mostly bullies at school, a few times it was about his dad (the little he remembered wasn’t great, he still had scars on his back from his father’s belt), sometimes even teddy boy fights were thrown into the mix (those were still going on though). It all went bonkers on the twenty-ninth though. They were at the cavern again, they weren’t to go up for about an hour and Ringo was going to use the loo. He walked in on a couple doing it though and changed his mind. The guy noticed him though and his eyes narrowed, the drummer could tell the man was drunk. He removed himself from his girl and started talking,”You’re the fucker who replaced Best aren’t you?”

Ringo took a few steps back but mostly stood his ground,”Let’s just take it easy-” 

One blow to his head and the twenty-three year old was down for the count,”Fuck.” he said to himself, rubbing his skull.

Picking him up by his shirt, the drunk man held him against the wall, his eyes dangerous,”Well, are you?”

Feeling disorientated and dizzy, both from the blow to the head and pounding into the wall, Ringo didn’t process what the man was saying. Another utterance and slamming got the drunk’s question across.

“Yes, fuck yes!” Ringo said, licking his teeth as he felt crimson on them. 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” the other man roared, hitting him hard across the face. Ringo saw stars. 

Finally, the drummer seemed to collect himself, he began to struggle in the other man’s grasp. He managed to struggle away but one blow to his ribs and he was down, wheezing. He tried to crawl away as the man began to kick him but the drunk’s girl got into it and pushed him back at the guy. 

Ringo lost track of time but out of the blue one loud,”What the fuck do you think your doing?” broke him from his pain-induced trance. John was in the doorway looking beyond pissed, beginning to feel like himself again, Ringo spit some of the blood that’d pooled in his mouth onto the floor and got onto his knees as the drunk was distracted. 

Without another word, John took a swung at the guy and the man fell into the sinks behind him, hitting his head and moaning as he landed on his ass. The vocalist took another few threatening steps but Ringo stopped him,”John don’t go mad on him, you don’t want to end up in jail tonight do you?”

Ringo was a bit worried as John seemed to genuinely consider the two options. He was relieved when the younger man restrained himself. Now turning his attention to the drummer, John winced at his appearance. 

“Hope that isn’t as bad as it looks.”

Ringo laughed, raising a hand to wipe away some of the blood around his mouth. He couldn’t help but wince a tad at how his lungs twanged when a chuckle emerged from them but played it off. Attempting to stand though, was another story. He thought he could do it but a flare up sent him back on the floor, his laughs ceasing abruptly and he began to cough violently. That only put him into more pain and he hacked up more blood. John looked uncomfortable. The guitarist had gotten down onto his knees and was next to Ringo but he seemed unsure of what to do and looked like he wished he was anywhere but here. The hacking got worse and John looked alarmed as more blood spurted from the drummer’s lips but seeing fury begin to rise again in his friend’s eyes, Ringo attempted to cease it. Eventually it did die down. 

“Well fuck that.” the drummer said in a weak attempt at humor.

John didn’t laugh. 

The older man leaned his head against the wall, jostling his hair enough that a gray streak in his otherwise brown hair showed. He took a few moments to collect himself and control his breathing but within thirty seconds was smiling at John,”Help me up will you?”

John got to his feet but hesitated before offering his hand,”You sure that’s the best idea?”

“I’ve had worse.” the other man said, waving it off.

John helped the twenty-three year old to his feet and while Ringo had a hard time keeping a wince off his face, he suceeded in not letting out a hiss of pain.

“I’m going to get cleaned up and then we can go back to the club. How long till we go on?”

John looked even more uncomfortable,”You can handle the performance?”

“We got a booking and I’m not missing out on a few quid.” the drummer said in response. The drunk having left the room, he moved over to the sinks and began to splash water on his face, he sighed at his appearance in the mirror. 

“We go on in ten.” the guitarist said, pausing before saying,”You need a bodyguard or something Ritchie.”

“I’m fine.” the bloodied man insisted again,”I can handle it.”

“You handled that great.” John said scathingly.

Satisfied with his appearance, Ringo turned,”Look Lennon, when I say I can handle it. I. Can. Handle. It. It’s like that with this sort of thing, it’s like that with drumming, it’s like that with anything and everything else.”

The shorter man didn’t saying it cruelly or particularly loudly, but calmly and without much emotion, at the end of his point he made eye contact with his friend to make sure he understood the point. John stared back at Ritchie, unyeilding and hiding his concern and discomfort behind a wall of stone. The drummer had gotten his point across though. 

 

The performance was still filled with the throwing of things and heckles but it was less than normal, after the performance, George joked “they’re starting to like you.”


	2. Session Drummer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo has a nightmare and is insecure about the new session drummer.

It was hard not to be insulted when George Martin replaced Ringo with a session drummer. It was humiliating honestly, the one thing he prided in himself being good at and apparently he wasn’t good enough for the group who’d had fucking Pete Best as a drummer. He was stuck playing the tambourine while Andy White played the drums. It left Ringo in a sour mood. He was rethinking his decision of joining the Beatles as of late. It had started when he’d been bloodied up by Pete Best fans (his lungs were still healing), then John hadn’t invited him to his wedding which, while it made sense it still hurt, now this whole session drummer thing. 

He wasn’t feeling very happy about it at all. He’d been talking to Rory lately and the guy had reminded him he’s always welcome back. Honestly, White’s drum playing wasn’t much if any better than Ringo’s. He felt frustrated and honestly a tad insecure. Apart from the things he’d already mentioned, the salary the Beatles were making was half of what Rory was making, probably mostly because the group had to pay a manager, were making a record etc., still the Beatle was mostly on board with what his bandmates were doing. It still bugged him that he wasn’t making as much money though, rent was really becoming an issue. George had actually proposed sharing a flat as apparently he was also struggling finance wise. Ringo had yet to talk about his young friend about it but was genuinely considering the offer.

The night before Andy White’s second day coming in, the twenty-three year old had a nightmare. Mostly, Ringo didn’t let his dreams affect him and usually they weren’t too bad. What he dreamt of though left him shaking, in a fetal position and not wanting to move, his hands were convulsing at his sides as he stared at the wall. It was a forgotten or repressed memory, he figured, perhaps it was fiction, a product of a young adults imagination, he didn’t think so though. It was when he was around seven years of age, his father had left him and his mother four years ago but was coming back over as he did infrequently. It wasn’t a pleasant visit. Ringo'd only just gotten home after a year in the hospital due to complications with appendicitis. He was seven and illiterate due to all of his missed school. His father tried to get him to read or write but the young boy just couldn’t grasp it. In frustration, Richard Starkey Sr. had taken a belt to his back and whipped him till he’d passed out. Never before had Ringo felt such helplessness. When he awoke the next day, his father had gone, telling his mother that her son was “dumber than a doorknob”. He’d visited only one other time, seven years ago. Nothing violent had occurred but a verbal exchange of words between the two had led to near fisticuffs. 

It was hard to get out of bed but Ringo did, trying to think of his normal optimism that got him through the day. He had a headache and was beyond ruffled. Arriving at the studio twenty minutes late, his hair was uncombed, his clothes were scruffy, a frown was etched on his face and bags were under his red eyes. 

George Martin stared disapprovingly at the younger man as he walked in,”Twenty minutes late, Starkey. It’s not my fault you stayed up late at the club. You get here on time, do you hear me? Your position in this band is already hanging on by a thin chord, do you really want it to snap?”

Ringo ignored the man and pushed past him, taking his seat from yesterday, near the back of the room on a stool with a tambourine. During a break between songs, John had startled him by clapping his hand on the drummer’s shoulder. Ringo flinched at this and hurried away from the scene, muttering something about the loo. He practically ran to the bathroom. Once getting there, he rested two palms on the sink and bowed his head down, collecting his breaths slowly and carefully. Still, everything was hard to control on a day he was so on edge. 

“Fuck.” he muttered quietly, sliding to the floor, he rested his head on one hand and stared at the wall. The drummer tried to block out the sounds he knew weren’t there but they just. Kept. Coming. His breathing grew difficult - he could start to hear his father’s voice. Worthless. Idiot. Good for nothing. Bastard. Worthless. Idiot. Good for nothing. Bastard. 

"Stop it.” he muttered quietly,”Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Ringo knew who would be there, Richard Starkey Sr., belt in hand, disapproving frown permanently etched onto his face. But no. It was George. Just George. Ringo tried to focus on that, George, that was something he could hold onto, something present. Harrison hadn’t noticed Starr until he’d walked a few feet into the room and saw him on the floor. Upon seeing him, he startled. 

“Christ, Rings. You just scared the crap out of me.” George said, laughter in tone. When he saw the other man wasn’t though, he halted. His expression grew troubled,“Are you crying?”

The drummer instinctively brought a shaking hand to his eyes, underneath did feel wet,”I guess so.” he said quietly. 

The guitarist got on the floor and faced Ringo, no hesitation in doing so, his eyes shone with concern,”What happened?”. Not an “are you alright” because obviously, he wasn’t. The blue eyed man couldn’t help but appreciate the younger’s directness. That didn’t mean he was telling him shit though. 

He had to say something though so murmured,”Had a rough night.” which wasn’t a complete lie. 

George could tell his friend wasn’t going to take well to pushing so didn't ask for elaboration. Instead, he shifted to sitting next to Ringo. At first the drummer had been uncomfortable with the proximity but quickly squashed that down and drew comfort from George's silence. The drummer didn't appreciate being in the spotlight though, especially for something like this. Fuck, he was obviously unstable. He hoped to hell that John and George didn't find out from one another about a second episode. He hoped they'd consider it a one time thing, and it was. He tried to tell himself, it was. 

Ringo collected himself fast enough and got to his feet, George grabbed his arm though. Surprisingly, that didn't set him off. The drummer turned his gaze to the lead guitarist's,”Look, if you ever need somebody to talk to…”

Ringo shared the other man's gaze for a moment and then nodded,”Thanks”. He appreciated the offer but he'd keep what was going on to himself. He didn't need to give his bandmates another reason for kicking him out.


	3. Christmas in Hamburg Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas in Hamburg is already pretty bleak, it only gets worse.
> 
> Warning: Attempted rape/non-con

It’s Christmas time, Ringo’s first with his new bandmates. Rory and the Hurricanes always had a bit of a tradition, if not preoccupied with family, they’d all go out for a drink and stay over at somebody’s (usually Rory’s) home. It felt odd not to do it this Christmas, he hadn’t the previous Christmas either but that was because he’d wanted to spend some time with his mother. Of course, he still did but Elsie was visiting her mother this Christmas, she’d been ill for sometime and it was probably his grandmother’s last holiday season. 

The subject was grave, but the twenty-three year old didn’t let it bother him, after all it was Christmas. Besides, seeing as he and the lads were in Hamburg, it was sure to be interesting. The four of them were sharing two hotel rooms at the Star-Club (Ringo was sure he’d already made far too many jokes about that). It was a bit odd because you’d expect Paul and John to share a room as they always seemed to be in one another’s pocket, instead though, George was sharing with John. That left Ringo with Paul, it was a bit awkward as while he liked Paul and all, they hadn’t really connected yet, the past week had been a bit awkward. Still, they’d connected a bit more. 

Waking up on Christmas day had been a bit anticlimactic, there weren’t any presents or family or christmas carols. It seemed an ordinary day in Hamburg, everything smelt like smoke, alcohol and piss. There were still naughty signs out, men were still whistling at them. His bedsheets still felt like sandpaper and the ceiling was still low. Ever the optimist though, the drummer didn’t let this faze him. While usually he’d wake up late (due to a mixture of insomnia and gigging at ungodly hours), something in his body had just woken him at the early hour of six in the morning. Paul was still sleeping face down on the other side of the bed, some drool pooling under his face and hair looking like a rats nest. He knocked on John and George’s door and didn’t get a response which meant they definitely weren’t awake (if they were John would’ve been yelling like a madman about something or other by now). 

Without much else to do, Ringo decided to grab something to eat and see if any mail had come in for him or the lads. The hotel definitely wasn’t fancy enough for room service (he didn’t understand any of the service people anyways, all they spoke was German) or a restaurant so he checked for post first. He was pleasantly surprised at large stacks of cards for him and his companions. George’s was by far the largest and Ringo’s was probably the smallest. A few parcel’s came with the letters so the blue-eyed man had his hands full. He dropped off everything on the dresser in Paul and his’ room. 

After that he hunted down breakfast and found it soon enough, it wasn’t somewhere anyone would want to spend their Christmas breakfast at but, well, it was food. Last minute, he decided to grab some presents for the boys. He didn’t expect anything from anybody else, but he was out and about and they most likely wouldn’t be up for a few hours anyway. It didn’t take him very long in his shopping, for George he bought a scarf and package of honey-filled candies, Paul got Cliff Richard’s latest album and John would receive a package of rather expensive pens (he’d dropped out of art school but Lennon still doodled and fancied himself a songwriter, or at least a poet). He got back to the hotel by eight thirty and was careful not to wake Paul as he entered their hotel room. 

Sitting carefully back down on their bed, he took a moment to think about his fairly new girlfriend, Maureen. He’d sent her a Christmas card two days back but was worried if it was too much of a stretch, they’d only been dating for three months after all. He hadn’t been in a relationship this long since Gerry McGovern, he supposed he didn’t really know what to do for a serious relationship any longer. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if it was serious, Maureen was one of the Beatles’s few fans and she’d shown up diligently to many of their shows. He hadn’t really noticed her until she’d kissed Paul on a dare and then chased his car. She still remembered the license plate. He’d asked her out a few weeks after the incident. After John found out he’d laughed, saying,”You sure know how to pick them son, isn’t she the mad one who kissed Paul?”

“That’s going to bring up serious relationship issues” George had joked.

Every move he made around Maureen made him nervous, something he hadn’t ever experienced. Usually he was confident around girls. He remembered with Gerry, up until their engagement, he hadn’t faltered in a single decision. Even when she’d challenged him time after time saying “it’s the drums or me” it hadn’t taken him much to say the former. With Mo though, it was different. There was a spark ignited between the two of them and Ritchie (as she called him) didn’t want anything to go wrong. He wanted everything to go right, didn’t want to piss off her parents, do something she hated, make the wrong moves, go too fast or too slow and a whole boatload of other things. He was lightheartedly teased by his bandmates about it. Ringo wasn’t joking though, this was one thing in his life that would go right.

He was interrupted by his contemplative thoughts when he heard a groan coming from the lump of a human on the bed (Paul). When the man in question began to rub his eyes, the drummer allowed a smile to spread across his face and greeted his friend a merry Christmas.

“It’s Christmas?” Paul asked drowsily.

“Of course it’s Christmas, Macca. Don’t you remember all the drinking last night?”

“No.” the bassist said,”How do you?”

“I can hold my liquor.” the drummer said with a grin, ducking as his bandmate threw a pillow, he tutted,”You’re getting predictable Paulie.”

Paul just groaned into the mattress, he probably regretted throwing the pillow now,”It’s too early for this.”

“It’s nine in the morning, McCartney.”

“Too early.”

Ringo rolled his eyes and reached over to their dresser and threw Paul’s stack of cards and parcels at him. The other man didn’t even flinch as his packages hit him.

“Come on Paul.” the twenty-three year old whined,”It’s Christmas, you can sleep tonight, we have off from gigging.”

The doe-eyed boy turned his head, glared at Ringo, but relented. Sighing, he sat up, Ritchie had to repress a snicker at the sight of his hair, all up on one side and flat on the other, the guitarist needed to trim it. 

“What’s all this?” Paul asked tiredly, picking up his bundle.

“Christmas mail.” Ringo replied cheerily.

The bassist flipped through the labeled packages and cards,”Why the hell is Dot sending me Christmas cards? We broke up months back.”

Ringo shrugged and started to work through his own pile. He recognized his mother’s handwriting, one from his grandmother Starkey (not the ill one) and a third envelope that made him smile especially, it was from Mo. He decided to save his mother’s for last and started with his girlfriend’s. The drummer’s smile widened as he read the letter, it was sweet but unobtrusive, just as his letter had attempted. With the card, she’d sent a few sweets which he ate quickly (George would steal them if he spared any, that boy for all his gangliness ate like a dog). 

“Apparently Mike is dating now.” Paul said with a snort as he put down one of his cards,”Dad’s making a huge deal out of it too, let him do what he likes.” he said pulling a face.

“Well last time he did that one of his son’s got a girl pregnant.” came a familiar rough around the edges voice. Paul turned red as John entered the room, George flanking him.

The bed dipped as Lennon sat next to Ringo, George remained standing. Despite his poor eyesight, Lennon spotted the stack of letters and parcels pretty fast,”I take it some of that’s mine?”

Ringo nodded,”A pile’s for you, the other’s for George.”

Both guitarists picked up their cards and parcels, they began to rifle through them. Before even opening any envelopes George started snacking on some of the toffee’s his mother had sent him. John snorted as he read through a red and green card addressed to him by Cyn,”Apparently Mimi’s complaining about the cat’s again.”

“You have an army of them John, she’s getting paranoid.” George said between toffee’s. 

The other guitarist scoffed,”Ten cat’s isn’t an army.”

“What happened to the other three?” Ringo asked.

“Mrs. Murphy went on a killing spree.” George said with a deadpan expression, calmly taking a bite of the honey candies Ringo had put on his pile.

“I love a good pet and all but Mimi has a point.” Paul said from his corner of the room,”Ten cats is more than a bit overboard, I doubt Cyn wants to help with them all either.”

“I wouldn’t have married her if she didn’t mind a few pets.” John said crossly as he finished his wife’s three paged letter,“Anyone for breakfast and a few drinks?”

“John it’s not even noon yet do you really want alco-”

“Macca, it’s Christmas. Your gift to me can be to not mother us.”

Ringo suppressed a grin and finished his mother’s card.

“I’ll drink a couple.” George said with a shrug, passive about the whole thing, he was now onto a jar of biscuits, having finished both bags of candy.

“Y’know you could pace the snacking.” Ringo said.

“No.”

 

Brunch was alright, Ringo managed to get drunk by 2. He wasn’t the only one though, Lennon was wobbling around chatting up girls and impressing them with his musical knowledge. Paul was trying something new, sitting in the corner and trying to look all mysterious, he’d brought his guitar with him and was muttering something in another language as he strummed it. When Ringo asked what he was doing Paul had grinned and said,”It’s a way to get birds. I’m a mysterious French gentleman in the corner who obviously has quite the musical talent and is dashingly handsome.”

The drummer could only shrug,”Alright mate, good luck I suppose. Let me know if it works out.”

After that exchange, he was feeling a smoke so stepped outside. He leaned against the building as he brought a woodbine to his lips. He lit the ciggy before bringing it to his mouth and taking a few puffs. As he finished the cigarette, he flicked it to the side. Ringo made a move to move back inside but a sudden heavy and tightly clutching hand landed on his shoulder. Alarmed, the drummer turned. A rather threatening looking man was connected to the hand. He loomed over Ringo, standing somewhere above six feet. The twenty-three year old had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. The man began to say something in German and of course the drummer didn’t understand a word of it. 

“I can’t understand you, mate.” he said cautiously, hoping the other man could speak English,”Maybe explain things in English?”

The German didn’t seem to hear or care what he had to say. Instead he roughly began to drag Ringo towards a nearby alley. All sorts of alarm bells started going off. Whatever the hell was going on, it couldn’t be good. The drummer began to struggle, one arm got free and he attempted to punch the man. The blow didn’t land though, his coordination was messed up. He cursed himself for getting drunk. The taller man shoved him onto the ground behind a row of trash can’s. Immediately, Ringo got on his hands and feet before trying to crawl away. A foot on his back brought him down though. Bumping his chin on the pavement, Ringo tasted blood.

The other man climbed on top of him and the drummer desperately began yelling, a hand around his mouth quickly stopped that though. The man muttered something in German in his ear that Ringo couldn’t understand but the tone was intended to make him calm down. He sure as fuck wasn’t calming down though. He played dormant for a few seconds but then bit down as hard as he could on the guys hand. That distracted him long enough for Ringo to get to his feet and begin scrambling away. It wasn’t fast enough though and the German grabbed him by the collar before smashing his head against the alley wall. Ringo moaned after the impact, he felt incredibly disorientated. 

The drummer was shoved back onto the floor and couldn’t find it in him to put up much of a struggle. When he felt the man begin to pull his trousers down though, he thrashed violently. He hadn’t known what the guy wanted but now that he did he sure as fuck wouldn’t let himself lay idle as it happened. The man used one hand to keep his head on the pavement, the other he used to pull down his own trousers. Mouth now free, Ringo started screaming.

Saying something that might’ve been swears under his breath, the German muffled the blue-eyed man’s screams. He halted his movements though as three figures stepped into the alleyway, Ringo could see well enough to make out what might be John, Paul and George. He hoped to god it was his friends. 

The three walked further into the alley, all looking uneasy and two of them, drunk. They got close enough that the drummer could make out their features and he recognized Paul, George and John. 

“Hello?” Paul asked tentatively,”We heard screaming, is anybody here?”

Ringo bit hard on the German’s hand but it stayed there, unrelenting though effected enough that it grasped his face tighter. Giving up on the approach, Ringo began to scream into the hand. Little sound emerged but in the quiet of the alley, it was enough to bring the boys towards them. The trio rounded the trash cans, all looking rather uncomfortable. The German didn’t have a chance to move. His friends took in the scene and all of their eyes widened, it was quiet for a moment. As soon as recognition sparked in John’s eyes, the German was done for. A snarl crossed Lennon’s face.

“You fucking bastard!” he yelled, within seconds, the man was off Ringo. 

All three of his bandmates assaulted the German. John, despite his drunkenness landed a perfect hit against the guys nose, effectively breaking it. Blood spurted from it and the man howled, George tackled him shortly after. 

Taking his gaze from the fight, Ringo moved himself into a sitting position and pulled his pants back up. After that he laid his head back against the alleyway and groaned. His head was pounding horribly and his vision was blurred at the sides. Darkness kept trying to swallow him whole and he had to fight to stay awake. He drifted in and out of consciousness until Paul crouched into his line of vision. His face was drawn into an expression of graveness and concern. Frowning, he peeled back Ringo’s eyelids. The drummer could only half-heartedly try to shake the bassist’s hands away. Paul squinted as he tried to observe the blue-eyed man’s pupils.

“Shit.” the dark haired man muttered. He bent the unresisting drummer’s head forward and gently ran his hand through the hair on the back of his skull. Ringo moaned when he touched a sore spot. 

“He’s got a concussion.” The bassist said to John and George, and when did they get there?

“Let’s get him back to the hotel then.” John said, a slightly on edge tone to his voice.

Paul nodded,”We can’t let him fall asleep.”

“Why not?” George asked.

“It seems pretty bad, Ritchie’s more than a bit out of it. It might be bad enough that if he falls asleep he won’t wake up. I doubt it’s that bad but we can’t be too careful.”

Ringo didn’t process any of what was said but suddenly they were walking, John and George were supporting his weight. 

“C’mon Starkey, use your feet.” John said from his left, struggling to keep one of the drummer’s arms slung along his shoulder. 

The twenty-three year old attempted to use his feet but more often than not, they dragged against the floor. His head began to droop and Paul had to slap him to keep him awake. Somehow, suddenly they were back at the hotel. He was in George and John’s room and propped up against the wall. Paul was out of sight and only the guitarists were crouching next to him.

George and John were muttering to each other and Ringo looked at the two of them. His eyes were too tired to flick between them so they just stared. John looked uneasy at that. 

“Do you remember your name?” George piped from next to John. 

The drummer nodded, it was a movement that had much effort put into it.

“What is it?”

Ringo opened his mouth, his jaw felt heavy and he slurred his words,”Richard Starkey.”

“How old are you?” George asked.

“Twenty-two, errrrr no, twenty-three.” the blue-eyed man muttered,

“And who are we?”

Ringo squinted,”John ‘n George.”

“Right.” George said. 

The twenty-three year old knew that they were asking more questions but he couldn’t bring himself to process them. He was so tired and he laid his head against the wall. Closing his eyes, all he wanted was sleep.

A slap to his face brought him back, unlike when Paul had slapped him though, he didn't realize it was John who’d done so. He was no longer Ringo Starr, twenty-three and in Hamburg. He was Richard “Ritchie” Starkey, six and in Dingle. Sneering down at him was his father, back for a rare visit. He’d just slapped him after the little boy couldn’t read a word.

“You’re a bloody idiot.” Richard Starkey senior said, yelling up into his son’s face,”Can’t do a fucking thing right! You aren’t any son of mine.”

Then Ritchie was on the floor of the kitchen and his father was undoing his belt. But suddenly it wasn’t his father, it was a nameless German, pushing his head into the concrete. And then he was being shaken madly and he felt a sob escape him, why couldn’t he be left alone? A voice rang out but it didn’t sound like it came from the German or his father. It was a familiar liverpudlian accent, rough around the edges but sounding taught with concern. John.

“Ritch. Come on, snap out of it. Rings, what’s going on in that bloody head of yours?” the alley became the hotel room and stone wasn’t in front of him, instead it was John. Next to him was Paul, something cold was on the back of his head, an ice pack, it wasn’t straight on his wound though. Some sort of bandage was wrapped around his head.

“Are you back with us?” the bassist asked anxiously.

“Ya.” he said quietly.

 

That night was one of the worst of his life, Paul, John and George took shifts keeping him awake and he was tired as fuck. Plus apart from the throbbing in his skull due to his concussion, a hangover was also assaulting him. Everybody seemed incredibly uncomfortable around Ringo, still the fact that they stayed despite their unease told him everything about their loyalty. The following morning, Paul deemed it safe for the drummer to sleep (though he’d need to be woken up every three hours). Hardly anybody left the hotel room that day. Ringo stayed on the bed along with George. John napped in an armchair and Paul brought in some of the covers and blankets from his and Ringo’s room. He napped on those. 

Ringo was coherent enough by four to play cards with John. George and Paul went out for food about half an hour ago and said they’d bring back something for everybody. Despite his concussion, the blue-eyed drummer still beat John almost every game.

“You’ve got to be cheating.” John scowled after Ringo’s fourth consecutive win.

The twenty-three year old grinned,”I’m just better than you Johnny, the sooner you accept it the sooner you’ll be at peace.”

The guitarist just scowled once more and reshuffled the deck. They sat in a companionable silence for another game, as Ringo collected all the cards again though, John spoke up. He was hesitant as he spoke and more than a bit of nervousness creeped into his tone,”Are you.. are you alright Ritch? Not physically but, well… in the head?”

“Are you asking if I’m mad, John?” Ringo said playfully, he knew his friend was serious. He just didn’t want to have this conversation.

“You know what I mean, Starkey.” John said flatly,”After... that, you can’t be fine the way you’re acting, sitting here and playing cards.”

“Would you prefer last night?” the drummer said tensely, roughly dealing out the cards. John stopped him, taking the cards away and setting them to the side. He tried to meet his friend’s eyes. Stubbornly, Starr stared at the floor.

“Ritch.” John said quietly.

“Starkey.” Ringo still refused to meet his gaze.

A heavy silence weighed between them. John looked like he was ready to grab Ringo and force him to look at him. He was saved when George and Paul entered the room, chatting about Elvis and food.  
The drummer eagerly faced away from John,”What’ve you got for me today, Geo?”

“I dunno if there’s anything left.” Paul said before George could open his mouth. Taking the bag of food from the lead guitarist, the bassist handed it to Ringo. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out his share of food (a sandwich and bag of candies) before handing the rest to John. The guitarist was giving him a “we’ll talk about this later” look. Ringo pointedly ignored him.

“You know I was nice.” George said, taking a seat next to the drummer,”I only ate one of your packs of candy.”

The blue eyed man snorted,”You’re so kind.”

The four resumed their banter as they ate. Despite this, Ringo could feel the underlying sense of awkwardness and tension, the other three all seemed like they wanted to talk about it. Instead of actually doing so though, they were just going around in circles, trying to act normal. He didn’t feel particularly inclined to break the spell.


	4. Christmas in Hamburg Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try to get Ringo to talk about it. He doesn't want to.

Four days filled with awkwardness and tiptoeing along Ringo passed before John approached him once more. They’d only spend two more days in Hamburg before heading back to Liverpool. Only two more days until he could get away from the suffocating wariness of his bandmates. The way they were all acting around him was irritating. They acted like if they said something he’d shatter or something. Honestly, nothing had even been done to him, he just got his head pounded a few times. Nothing had happened. He was fine and over it, why couldn’t the others be as well? 

It was after they’d finished some late night gigging, around 1AM. John, Paul and George were getting their guitars put away and Ringo was doing a similar thing with his drums. Well, not his, he’d been borrowing a kit from a local drummer. They were a nightmare to get packed up but years of experience helped him get it done fast. Since he was loaning them he had to make sure they weren’t damaged so he brought them to and from the hotel. Still, the others were all done by the time he finished. Usually one or two of his bandmates hung back to help him carry his kit back to the hotel, he didn’t see anybody and resigned himself to taking them back alone. Lately, all three lingered back, probably due to their new sense of protectiveness (he hadn’t been able to get a moment to himself as of late). Of course he wasn’t actually alone as John appeared seemingly out of thin air, the younger man was already helping pick up a few cases. 

“We should be have help for this by now.” John said, making a face,”I mean we’re about to release a record, isn’t that enough to warrant it?”

“We don’t have that kind of money.” Ringo said as the two began walking. 

Lennon grumbled before changing the subject abruptly as he tended to do,”You know you worry the crap out of me right?”

“John-”

“Shut up Ritch. Listen, you’re one of my friends so I’m worried about you. Not just about that fucker from a few days ago either. Something tells me you have a whole pile of issues. As somebody who also has a whole pile of issues, I know what you need. And you need to talk about it. I know you don’t want to and I didn’t want to either but it’s something that will help a lot. I’ll tell you something son, it’s going to be one of the most uncomfortable situations you’ve ever been in and the feeling goes both ways. I don’t care if you don’t choose to acknowledge the conversation after it’s happened but it’s going to fucking happen.”

The drummer observed his friend with a wide-eyed disbelieving gaze. John was getting way to intimate for his tastes, just as the guitarist had predicted. Wordlessly, he walked faster, leaving John behind and making his way to the other’s. To his surprise, John didn’t try to speed up or call out to him, instead he stared at his retreating back. A silent but sure “it’s going to happen” gaze followed him. John, more than the other two had especially been acting odd, not odd like it’d been after the whole cavern club scene five months back, it was much more palpable. Perhaps he was paranoid but every movement the guitarist made around the twenty-three year old seemed to have a purpose, something rare for Lennon and unnerving for Ringo. Despite how he acted and the show he put on, there was something incredibly intelligent and wise behind his friend’s eyes. Sometimes he would completely forget about it but other times it amazed him how he’d managed not to notice. Lennon was much more than what he let on.

 

Time passed agonizingly slowly. Ringo just wanted to get back to Liverpool and away from Paul, George and especially John’s stares. All of the lads were great friends but after recent events, the drummer just needed space. In two days the four Beatles were hitchhiking back to their hometown, hoping to be back around the time of New Years Eve. Ringo was a bit relieved about John’s attention not being focused on him, as they were heading home the younger man was fixated on his now five months pregnant wife. 

While George was trying to sweet talk a truck driver into letting all four of them plus their luggage onto his vehicle, Ringo let his mind wander. It drifted where it most commonly did nowadays, to Mo. He wondered what she was doing right now, probably enjoying the last of Christmas break with her parents. He’d sent a letter a few days back saying that he’d be back in time for New Years and wondered if she’d recieved it yet. 

“Ritch, c’mon!”

The drummer was snapped back into the present at John’s snapping and Paul’s beckoning. Picking up his case, he threw it into the back of the truck and climbed in with John and Paul, George was sitting up front. The back of the truck was dark and slightly damp, there were boxes of who knows what in the back. It smelled like something illegal but nobody really minded. The truck ride got boring fast and John quickly pulled out his harmonica and began to play. It was a bit rough to listen to, but Lennon was getting better. Paul shortly after pulled out his bass and plucked a few notes. He frowned at it, after all this time he was still sour about being the one who had to switch to bass. 

Ringo grew bored quickly as well, and with no drums to play on, fell asleep to the instruments.

 

Waking up, Paul and John both stood over him with worried expressions. The drummer was a bit unsettled by the two. 

“Any reason for the hovering?” He asked irritably.

Paul and John exchanged glances before the former replied,”You were crying in your sleep.”

The twenty-three year old frowned, he had no memory of the dream. Bringing a hand to underneath his eyes though and sure enough, the area was wet. He quietly sighed.

“Thanks for waking me up then.” Ringo said before turning away, trying to signal that the conversation was over. There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Eventually one set of footsteps retreated, the drummer already knew who hadn’t left his side. He was surprised when he felt the other man sit down beside him. Turning his head to face John, he was surprised when he realized it wasn’t John, but Paul.

The other man had a look of inner turmoil that was obvious enough to see even in the dark of the truck. Finally, the bassist opened his mouth,”Ritch… just… talk to somebody.”

Seeming to be content with the five words he’d uttered, Paul stood and walked away.

The drummer rubbed his temples, first John and now Paul. Why did it have to be brought up? Why should they want to have to talk about it so often? He was content to just let it go ignored, why couldn’t they? Ringo knew why, they wanted to help him, but he didn’t want the help. He didn’t need help. He was fine.


	5. Christmas in Hamburg Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo talks about it

Even though this was the second single they’d produced, Ringo was still excited when “Please Please Me”/”Ask Me Why” was released. It was nice to hear himself on drums, Andy White’s version of “Love Me Do” was the one which had been released. He took his playing on “Please Please Me” to be the confirmation of his entrance into the group. While he’d become good friends with John, Paul and George it wasn’t until they’d recorded the song back in November that he felt his musical abilities were accepted and appreciated. 

One thing he took notice of was as of late, they’d had actual fans - not those like Mo had been, who recognized them when they played at the Cavern. No, they were full on fans, one had gone mad on Paul and started screaming when she saw him before she started running at him like a lunatic. It had been interesting. Mostly those who’d heard “Love Me Do” and “P.S. I Love You” were pleasant though. It was nice to talk to the fans. Paul and George had picked up a few girls that way, as had John (there was an unspoken agreement that nobody would tell Cyn). The drummer hadn’t gotten as much attention from girls as his bandmates did though so hadn’t had the opportunity. He’d like to think he’d stay faithful to Mo if he was offered anything.

Since they’d gotten back from Hamburg about two weeks ago, nobody had broached that subject, which Ringo was beyond grateful for. He hoped it had been forgotten. Now that he wasn’t spending his time with the lads constantly, his night terrors wouldn’t disturb them and hopefully his bandmates would figure they’d stopped. That was anything but true though, they were getting worse. His mother and Mo both were concerned about the bags under his eyes. The nightmares had been keeping him up late, his left eye had actually started to twitch. His mother worried it was his insomnia coming back and Ringo let her. The other Beatles didn’t need to know any of that either.

Today he Paul, John and George had a gig at the Cavern Club and they’d be playing for quite awhile. Specifically from 5pm to 1am. The drummer already felt his arms ache. Perhaps those were the lingering effects of a gig two days back though. Either way, it was a hassle to get his drum kit and lazy ass out of the house. He hadn’t been outside much, since they returned from Hamburg. Stepping outside made him want to curl into a ball. Hell he was tired. 

As he loaded his kit into the back of his car, he scowled when his reflexes couldn’t catch his hi-hat which toppled into him. Grumbling, the twenty-three year old finished packing everything together and moved into the front seat. It felt like driving drunk, he kept drifting in and out of awareness. He’d ended up going the wrong way on a one way lane and was a sliver from a car crash. Arriving at the club, he was in a foul mood. George was outside having a smoke and recognized his vehicle right away. Stubbing his cigarette against the nearest wall, the youngest Beatle made his way to Ringo’s mode of transport.

The guitarist had a playful smile on his face when he meandered over but upon seeing his bandmate’s face, it disappeared. 

“Christ Ritch, you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.” George said.

Suddenly self-conscious about his unkempt hair and bloodshot eyes, the blue-eyed man attempted to smooth back the former. Harrison eyed him with worry but didn’t say anything more on the subject as he helped unload the drum kit. Ringo had a hard time staying awake as the overwhelming urge to sleep consumed all of his being. His vision blurred and he didn’t realize he’d been standing still, staring into space until somebody crashed into him.

Turning around, he recognized it as one surly looking John Lennon. The vocalist glared at him for about five seconds before his eyes softened,”And I thought I was having a fucked up day”. Ringo wordlessly stared at the pavement. His initial intentions were to simply avoid Lennon’s gaze but soon enough, the ground below his feet looked incredibly comfortable. He was brought back to attention to a snapping in front of his face, John was back to looking surly as he tried to draw his drummer’s attention.

“We’ve got a gig, son.” John reminded him, pointedly looking at the snare by Ringo’s feet.

Shaking himself, the drummer picked up the snare and walked into the building. It was already full. The cavern had recently gotten a paint job which didn’t seem to have been done right as bits of it were falling from the ceiling. Not many in the audience seemed to care much. For some reason, that made his lips quirk upwards. Ringo placed his snare with the rest of his kit on stage and decided to get a drink while waiting to go on.

He passed through the crowd without much trouble before finding the bar. It wasn’t all that busy despite the amount of people at the club. He gave the bartender a weak attempt of a smile and ordered some beer. While waiting, he scanned the room for his bandmates. Paul was still attempting that mysterious Frenchman thing, George was tuning his guitar and John was making his way over to Ringo. Sighing, the drummer turned back to the bartender and took his drink before sitting and resigning himself to a conversation with Lennon. He was too exhausted to really care at this point.

The guitarist in question had made his way through the crowd and was making his way to the bar. He nodded at Ringo before ordering. After doing so he sat down on the stool beside his bandmate.

The blue-eyed man gave a half hearted attempted to change the subject before the conversation even began,”So why are you having a bad day?”

John gave him a look.

Ringo sighed,”You know you’re a hypocrite right? Won’t talk about your own issues but you preach ‘talk to somebody’.”

A flash of anger crossed John’s expression but the younger man didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The drummer regretted not leaving the bar when he had the chance. They sat in silence for a few strained minutes before Ringo growled in frustration. Slamming his hands down beside his now empty beer, he stood up,”Fuck you Lennon.”

The trouble was, he’d gotten up too fast. Instead of storming off like he’d planned, he felt a wave of dizziness crash down on him. Fuck sleep deprivation. Ringo sat back down and put his head in his hands, trying to wait out the dizzy spell. When it passed, he lifted his head up slowly and carefully. John was silently observing but not making a move. Ignoring him, Ringo got to his feet (more carefully this time) and stalked off towards the stage. They were going on in ten minutes anyway.

The drummer leaned against the wall and watched as the current act finished their last song. The Beatles would have about six minutes to prepare themselves before launching into their set. George and Paul were close enough, the former already tuning his guitar. John remained at the bar though, staring pointedly at Ringo. It was a bit unsettling to be honest.

As the song finished and John still didn’t move, Ringo made his way back to the bar. 

“Come on Lennon, we go up in five.” 

John stared downward for a few seconds before chugging the remainder of his beer, slamming it on the table and swiveling to face his bandmate,”Tell me you’ll talk about it then.”

Ringo sighed in exasperation,”John, come on.”

“No.”

“John…”

“No.”

"John-”

“I’m not going up until you agree to talk about it, Ritch.”

Anxiously, Ringo chewed his lip and looked back at the stage. George and Paul were already on stage and looking pointedly at the two of them. He looked back at John, his expression set, he wasn’t going to change his mind. Ringo sighed, rubbed his temples and looked at the guitarist who was smirking like he already knew he’d won. And he had,”Fine. After the performance and after George and Paul leave.”

John nodded and clapped him on the shoulder before making his way through the crowd,”Come on then, Starkey!”

Reluctantly, the drummer followed.

 

They finished their set sometime around 1:12 in the morning, a bit later than usual but it’d taken them a while to get through all the songs. Ringo was taking as long as he could with packing up his kit. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Some part of him hoped that John would be too tired to remember their earlier conversation or didn’t care enough at this hour. No such luck. 

“George and Paul are walking back together.” John said as he made his way towards Ringo,”We can head back to mine. Cyn won’t mind.”

Ringo nodded because his throat felt too dry to give a verbal response. He was incredibly tired. He’d dropped his sticks twice tonight, something he never did. He supposed his hands had been too loose today. He was also more dizzy than ever, the alcohol probably hadn’t helped. He was dying for a smoke so lit a cigarette as he and John made walked towards Ringo’s car. John helped him throw the kit in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat even though he was more drunk and a much worse driver than the drummer. Ringo was too tired to fight his bandmate though and let him take the wheel.  
By the time they reached Cyn and John’s flat, he was sure his car had at least one indent in it which hadn’t previously been there,”You should wear your glasses when driving” Ringo said as he clumsily got out of the car. He giggled at the sound of the car’s slamming door. Maybe he’d drunk more than he thought. Certainly that and sleep deprivation made him dizzy enough that he fell over as he walked. Feeling blood on his face, Ringo just laughed. John was lightly snickering too, it was apparent he was tipsy.

A familiar blonde stuck her head out the nearest door looking incredibly groggy. At the sight of her husband, Cynthia looked put out. Now six months pregnant, John was always complaining that she was more irritable than usual. 

Ringo felt a lopsided smile cross his face and he waved at Mrs. Lennon from his spot the ground,”Hi, Cyn.”

The blonde gave him a tired smile before turning to John,”Is he staying the night then?” 

“I dunno.” John said, walking towards her, a drunken smile taking over his face,”Have I ever told you how beautiful you look?”

Cynthia blushed at that but quickly her expression was replaced with one of surprise,”Oh for heaven's sake… John, Mimi’s escaped.”

Ringo sniggered from his spot on the floor,”You named your cat after your aunt?”

John ignored him,”Why don’t you go get her then?”

“John it’s your cat and I’m pregnant and in my nightie!”

“So?”

Cynthia sighed in exasperation,”I’m going to close the door before anymore cats escape. You are not coming into this house until you find that cat, John Lennon.”

“Why isn’t your name Mimi?” Ringo asked.

John said,”Because her name is Cynthia.” as if it were obvious.

“Well why is Mimi’s name Mimi then? What was Mimi’s name before you named her Mimi?”

“What?”

“John find the cat!” came from the flat.

“You heard the woman, find the cat.” John said to Ringo.

Ringo didn’t move from his spot on the ground,”No thanks John, ‘s your cat.”

Lennon grumbled,”Neither of you are any help.”

Begrudgingly, John did end up searching for his pet though, albeit moaning about it the entire time. He ended up finding Mimi behind a few flower bushes and trampled them accordingly. 

“Come on.” the moptop said, beckoning at the front door with his head, cat in hand.

Ringo didn’t really feel like moving though so decided to continue to lay there, he was feeling sleepy. His eyes were beginning to close but he stopped them, getting to his feet. He was not sleeping, the nightmares came when he slept. He didn’t want to deal with the nightmares. He’d rather talk to John then that… it seemed he was.

So he entered the flat anyhow, a minute or so after his bandmate had entered. The guitarist seemed to be having a quiet word with his wife in the kitchen when Ringo walked in. Upon noticing his disheveled friend though, John broke away from Cyn and walked him to the table,”You’re a mess, son.”

Upon sitting down, Mrs. Lennon began inspecting the cut on the side of his face, her lips pressed into a tight line,”You should wash that out, Ritchie.”

“Mmk.” Ringo said, not really paying attention. 

Cynthia frowned at that but sighed,”I’ll be in bed.” she said to John before leaving the room.

Left alone with his bandmate, the reality of the situation began to really sink in for the shortest Beatle. This was really going to happen. And with John Lennon of all people. Nervously, the blue-eyed man began to drum his fingers against the table. With the guitarist opposite him, it was apparent for the first time that John didn’t really know how to proceed, he looked just as uncomfortable, if not more than the drummer. Ringo swallowed heavily.

The silence stretched on. 

Finally, some minutes later, John broke it,”I didn’t really see in the alleyway, did he actually…?”

“No.” Ringo answered quickly, not meeting eye contact,”Didn’t… didn’t get that far.”

“It’s still messing with you though, ya?”

The twenty-three year old waited for a beat before answering this time,”Ya.”

“Is that why you look like shit?” John asked.

“I mean…” Ringo said, chewing his lip,”I suppose… well… yes and no. It’s not just… that. Just… brought back unpleasant memories.” he’d seemed to have said too much. Even though John had said before he didn’t think what had happened was the only thing eating at him, this was confirmation. 

His friend seemed to mull over the response before asking the next question, brazenly like Lennon always tended to do,”Like what?”

The drummer stalled, averted his gaze - took an interest in the table.

“Ritchie, answer the question.” 

Ringo sighed and raised his head up to meet John’s eyes, they were surprisingly sharp looking for the amount of alcohol he’d ingested. He began to think Lennon had purposefully made him agree to talk about it tonight, probably because he realized there was no getting this out of him when the drummer was lucid. The blue-eyed man continued to sit on the question, still not answering. If he had a drink he’d be sipping it as an excuse not to talk. 

“Ritch, you can’t stall forever.”

Ringo chewed his lip, running his hand through his hair while doing so. His hand brushed over the gray streak in his hair, caused by stress. He was very stressed right now. Would he really feel better to get this off his chest? Did John even really want to help him? He doubted his bandmate would after Ringo told him what it was. It was pathetic really, everybody’s dad knocked them about, it was for him to deal with. No one else seemed bothered by it. The last and only time he’d told somebody - his ex-fiancee, Gerry - she’d seemed unimpressed. He was damaged goods and perhaps that was one of the reasons she left him. She had told him upfront that he was far too sensitive if a beating here or there would give him nightmares years later. John was right though, he couldn’t stall forever. Anyhow the guitarist was going to get it out of him one way or another. He was stubborn like that.

“I… well… when I was a lad, my dad wasn’t really in the picture. He left me and my mum when I was little, one at the most. See, he did come back a few times though. I got ill a lot you see, when they thought I might not pull through my mum would send for him. Sometimes he came. When he did, it… well… I wish he didn’t. He knocked me about and yes I know, everybody’s da knocks them around but it wasn’t because I’d done anything wrong you see. He just did it for the sake of it, I think he hates me. It just… it was… and he…” Ringo sighed, frustrated. John watched him, not interrupting, he seemed to know that his bandmate would only get this out if he did it in one sitting.

“It… when I saw him it just… he went mad. Every chance he got, he’d hit me and he’d say it was my fault. My fault his life was shitty, me just existing caused him pain. He’d never wanted me he said. I know it’s stupid, I know, it’s just… it keeps me up at night I suppose.”

Ringo avoided looking at his bandmate’s face, he tried to discreetly dab at his eyes which were watering, of course that was hard to do when you were drunk. He met the guitarist’s eyes though when he finally spoke,”It’s not stupid, Ritch.”

The singer continued,”He hurt you. You can be upset about that.”

Ringo gave him a tired smile, thankful,”Thank you.”


End file.
